


The Inkwell Gang

by thetruthisinourtardis



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, just some random musings about where i think this shit is going, sammy-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-04 09:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetruthisinourtardis/pseuds/thetruthisinourtardis
Summary: The rise and fall of Sillyvision, as told by Sammy Lawrence.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's late and I have finals, so of course I'm writing fanfiction. There might be more to this later. Hope you like it! It's based off my own theories about the game.

They were fighting again.

Sammy groaned loudly, trying to distract himself in composing, but not even the peace of his sanctuary could drown out the yells.

This had been going on for weeks now. Henry would complete a sequence, Joey would rip it apart, they’d fight. It was getting harder to remember the lofty days of friendship between the two men. It seemed like nothing was ever good enough for Mr. Drew, and although a good challenge could make an artist grow, there was only so much a man could do.

Not to mention, Sammy thought with a bitter frown, the lack of credit was starting to wear on EVERYONE, but no one more so than Henry.

It wasn’t fair, after all. Henry was SUPPOSED to be part owner after all. He had helped Joey to conceive the idea of Bendy, Boris, the wicked Beezlebub, and had even directed a cool 15 shorts himself. No one worked harder or did better work. Hell, Wally had been complaining just the day before that he wasn’t sure what Joey even DID anymore. But did Henry get credit? no.

The ideas weren’t coming. Utter garbage, all of it. Sammy balled the sheet of music and threw it into the trash. A perfectionist himself, he wouldn’t allow sub-standard work from himself, even with the end of the studio upon them. Oh, he’d heard the rumors. Henry was going to leave. Henry was going to be fired. Henry was gonna snap and murder Joey with his own ink pen. Sammy knew better. He was a lovable guy, if a bit serious. Henry wouldn’t just….

would he?

He chuckled. “Sammy ol’ boy you’re working too hard.”

—  
—

The end came faster than they thought.

“What do you MEAN, you own him?!” Henry’s heartbroken voice echoed throughout the entire studio, and everyone, even Sammy, had huddled close enough to the office that they could hear. “I made him! I gave him his name, his look— Joey you can’t DO this!”

Joey Drew had always been an imposing figure: Tall, clean cut, a military man. He had a voice that could cut right through you, and that was on full display. “It was right there on the contract we all signed. The studio is WHOSE, Henry?”

Sammy craned his neck a little. He could’ve sworn that Henry’s shoulders were shaking. Was he crying? “You said it was a partnership, Joey. You said we owned everything together. Don’t….Don’t take bendy away from me.”

He could hear the cruel smile on Joey’s face. “Shouldn’t have threatened to quit, pal. You’re ruined if you walk out that door. You think anyone is going to hire a washed up animation reject?” A scoff. “I’m your only chance. Stay, and we forget this ever happened. Leave and you’ll never work in Hollywood again.”

A pause that was too long for any of their liking.

“…….Ya know what Joey? That’s fine.”

“Excuse me?!”

Henry’s chair scooted back with such force it smacked into the wall. “You heard me. You think I’M ruined? Who is the creative one here because it SURE as hell isn’t you.” Some of the younger animators gasped. “You wanna tear my character from me, go ahead. But everyone knows your stories are shit.” Now EVERYONE gasped. Nothing more was said, and Henry stormed out the door and to his desk without a word to anyone. He didn’t seem to notice or care that everyone had heard it. Maybe that’s how he wanted it.

Wally whistled loudly. “Bout time he told that egomaniac off.”

Sammy wanted to agree, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but smile weakly.

Henry was right. He was very right. He had been the creative drive behind everything.

what were they going to do now?

—  
—

Months passed, and Henry’s warning had become painfully true. 

No one even knew if people were watching the cartoons anymore, but if revenue was anything to go off of, then Bendy and pals were doomed to become forgotten before the end of the year. This was devastating to everyone. So much love, time, energy, and tears had gone into making that little demon a household name, and now….

Sammy didn’t want it to end. Why would he? It had been his life for three years and he might not have really enjoyed it, it paid the bills more reliably than anything was at the moment. Besides, he had come to be fond of Bendy and Boris. He even kind of liked the late addition to the gang, a beautiful little fallen angel called Alice. 

He couldn’t be blamed for what happened.

“Ah, Samuel. Please come in.” Joey had gotten lean, large bags under his normally shrewd eyes. The toll was obvious, but Sammy was wise enough to not mention it. “How is the latest song coming along?”

Sammy rolled his eyes. “As good as a song about sleepy lambs can be. Did you need something or can I go back to work?”

Joey chuckled quietly, a darkly hollow sound. “All in due time. There was something I wanted to ask you.” His eyes darted to the door, back to Sammy, then back to the door. “You locked it right?”

“Um…..” 

“Good.” Joey put an arm around Sammy’s shoulders and pulled him close. “See, I’ve been thinking. Things aren’t going so hot right now, that’s not a secret. Despite everything we try, people are losing interest. What do you think we should do?”

Sammy eyed him warily. Joey never talked to him, at least never in such a casual manner. And he CERTAINLY didn’t ask for advice. “I…..um….. What is this, sir?”

Joey sighed and sat down behind his desk, fiddling with a Bendy plushie absentmindedly. “We need to do something new, Sammy. New and fresh. Update the gang and…..give them new life.” A strange smile crossed his face. “If you get what i’m saying.”

Utterly baffled, Sammy just shook his head. Joey just kept smiling.

“You ever heard of an ink machine?”

—  
—


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up in the ol' inkwell.

“It’s the latest technology.”

It was like he was a completely different person. The months of fatigue seemed to melt away, and for a brief moment, Sammy could’ve swore he was the same chipper man who had started the studio years ago. Joey gestured again to a blueprint with a….well, Sammy didn’t know WHAT it was to be perfectly frank.

“…I don’t get it.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Joey what is this?”

His boss’s face fell into a scowl. “Ink machine.”

Sammy groaned. “Yeah you keep saying that. What IS it though?”

The machine looked more like a power generator than anything to do with animation. It was large, bulky, and squared off on one side with a large tube on the other. The writing underneath proclaimed its usefulness, saying it would “cut production time in half”. How, Sammy couldn’t figure out.

Pointing to it again, more insistently this time, Joey seemed to ignore him. “Automatic inking, my boy. No more wasting time having the girls upstairs break their backs, or begging the animators to do it. With a streamlined system, we can focus more on what’s important.”

“…..The story?”

“REVENUE.” Joey shook his head. “Don’t be such a wide-eyed innocent, Sammy. Everyone knows you’re only here because you couldn’t get hired anywhere else.” Sammy winced, but said nothing. To be fair, he thought coldly, you couldn’t get a job anywhere else either you asshole. “If we can churn out more cartoons more often, our studio will be in the black again, instead of bleeding resources.” He trailed off a little, marveling at the machine again.

Sammy rolled his eyes but, again, said nothing. 

—  
—

Her name was Susie Campbell, and Sammy adored writing for her voice.

It was late. How late, Sammy had lost track. Not that this was unheard of; In fact, as far as he knew, Norman and some of the girls in inking were still around. Animation took forever, after all. His latest song was coming along swimmingly, and he dared to think it was some of his best work. A light-hearted, happy tune about making the best out of bad situations. Alice, after all, was a fallen angel; She didn’t want to be where she was, but she was determined to make the most of it. That was her motivation.

“A lighter side of hell.” Sammy smiled tiredly. 

He leaned back in his chair, yawned, then rubbed his eyes. The studio could get eerie at night, the deep shadows warping the oak walls and playing tricks on your mind. Sammy had just laughed whenever Henry claimed that he could “hear” Bendy late at night.

Henry……

Sammy hadn’t heard from his former boss in almost a year. No one had. Last anyone heard, he had moved to New York to pursue photography or something. A slight pang of regret flickered through the tired man’s mind. He should really get ahold of him. Tell him he had been right. Beg him to come back or take them with him or SOMETHING.

Too late now, he supposed.

Since the “meeting”, Joey had only become more obsessed with perfection, actively belittling imperfect cels or shouting whenever one of the inbetweeners (often kids in their teens) would draw Bendy off-model. “None of this will happen when the ink machine comes”, he would often mutter to himself. If he wasn’t harassing his staff he was holed up in his office doing god only knows what. Sammy couldn’t talk, though. He had, after all, spent the last day and a half in his sanctuary, to the point that Norm, the band director, had gotten fed up waiting for him and tried to start rehearsals up again, ending in an argument between the two. He didn’t get it. Genius needed SILENCE, damn it.

Tensions were understandably high. 

A banging noise in the hallway snapped him out of it, and Sammy about fell out of his chair. “Oh boy,” he thought with a grimace. “Don’t tell me another board fell out of the ceiling.” He stood slowly, stretching, and opened the door. Nothing but empty halls. 

“…..huh.”

Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have phased him. He was a rational adult, after all. But Sammy was just the right type of tired, and just stressed enough, that it unnerved him. “Hello?” He tried softly, then repeated louder. Still nothing. Probably a mouse, Sammy thought nervously to himself. Or Wally pulling a prank on him again. Satisfied that he was just being ridiculous, Sammy turned to walk back to his desk—

CLANG!

Yelping loudly and hitting the wall harder than he should’ve, Sammy felt his heart race and leap in his throat. “P-Probably just Joey doing some work,” Sammy rationalized to himself, quietly creeping through the dark hall towards the source of the banging. It had to be coming from the break room. There was no other place it COULD be. Maybe it really was Joey and he was just installing more parts for the ink machine. That made sense.

It had to be it.

Sure enough, the closer he got, the more he could make out Joey’s voice mumbling to….someone. Norm? Maybe it was Wally, he usually got stuck with unsavory tasks. Knowing it was his boss calmed Sammy’s nerves, and with his fear dissipating, Sammy walked in.

And screamed.

His scream seemed to upset the shuddering black void that was rising from a pool of SOMETHING at Joey’s feet, and an inhuman shriek choked its way out of it before it fell to the floor, inert. Ink. It had been ink. Once the shock of that wore off, Sammy was then able to take in the state of the room. There was ink EVERYWHERE; it coated the walls, it was seeping from the ceiling, and it even seemed to flow up through the floorboards and pool around his feet. And standing in the middle, like nothing was even amiss, was Joey.

“Ah, Sammy.” Ink dripped from his mouth. “How good of you to join me.” INK DRIPPED FROM HIS EYES.

“He’s waiting for you.”

The scream jolted him awake, and for a horrible moment, Sammy could feel the ink rising around him and forcing its way down his throat. But the panic subsided, and relief washed over him as he took a shaky breath. “It—It was a dream….S’only a dream….” Sammy held his head and breathed deeply, attempting to calm his rattling nerves. It hadn’t been real. Joey hadn’t tried to kill him.

Somewhere off in the bowels of the studio, a pipe began to leak.

—  
—

Sammy would be a liar if he said it had been a great place to work before the giant drippy pipe was installed in his office, but good god almighty it sure couldn’t get worse.

Oh he had protested like mad. He even had gotten a bunch of his colleagues to sign a paper saying how stupid these pipes were. They were large, they were ugly, they smelled to high heaven, and Wally had almost quit in protest of all the ink blotches he had to clean up now. But Joey Drews wasn’t a man to be talked down from something lightly, and the ink machine stayed. Still, they were down to a skeleton crew. Who in their right mind would work under these conditions?

Sammy. That’s who.

After all, ink or no ink, those songs weren’t writing themselves, and the cartoons HAD been increasing in quality since the machine was installed. Maybe, Sammy thought with a faint sense of hope, maybe it was just temporary. 

The devil’s swing. Swing had always been one of his favorite genres of music, so he was excited for Bendy to get this.

“Will he like it?” 

The voice was dull, hollow, not his. But it had come from his mouth. Sammy blinked, confused. Who…? He shook his head. He really needed to take a break after this. The nightmares were getting more persistent, and he couldn’t focus during the day.

Drip, drip. A soft splatter of ink fell from the pipe and onto his hand. His handkerchief was stained black from all the blotches he’d wiped away. Sammy studied the dark, purple-black liquid as it traced a path down the side of his hand and down his wrist. 

Drip, drip. The ink had stalled, pooling at his cuffs and staining the sleeve. He felt like he should stop it. He didn’t.

Drip. Without any warning, or even any sound, the ink began to seep through his skin. Sammy shuddered, snapped from his daze, and began to frantically claw at the skin of his arm. No good, the ink was gone, and snaking an icy trail through his veins. Panic set in. “Christ!!” Sammy fell backwards over his chair and scrambled for the door, swinging it open and running out like a man possessed. The ink had reached the pit of his chest and stayed there, a cold empty void that refused to leave. Joey would know what to do. He HAD to know. Animators and foley artists looked up and stared as he ran past, not stopping long enough for them to ask if he was alright.

“JOEY!” Sammy banged frantically on the door, begging God that he was in the office. “Joey y-ya gotta help me man! I—I—“

The door swung open, but it wasn’t Joey who stared up at him.

The two stared for a minute, considering each other. Sammy had almost completely forgotten his fear for utter bafflement, and the…….thing was equally confused. It mimicked Sammy’s curious motions slowly, unsure of its own movement. It didn’t move naturally. How could it.

“…….Bendy.”

The creature turned at the sound of its name, recognizing it. Bendy, for what else could that thing be, smiled up at him and nodded. “Yeah! Yeah, you—you remembered me!” it clapped happily. “I remember YOU, Sammy…You’re the one who helped us sing!”

Sammy felt his mind utterly break, and he sunk to his knees. “…Am I….dead?”

“Huh?” Bendy frowned slightly, its horns drooping a little. “Doncha know me, Sammy boy? It’s your ol’ pal Bendy!” The cartoon grabbed his hand, and the chill of the ink in his veins flared up. “C’mon, you know! Joey said you’d be happy to see me.”

It was too much to handle at once. The cold spread through his body, numbing his panic and clouding his mind.

“I am.”

—  
—


End file.
